


First Impressions

by helva2260



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Hopefully funnier than it sounds, Kink Meme, M/M, Mistaken Identity, Semi-Public Sex, Sexual Harrassment, Spot the canon cameos!
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-06-18
Updated: 2012-06-18
Packaged: 2017-11-08 00:53:47
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 3,158
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/437341
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/helva2260/pseuds/helva2260
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Modern AU. Five times Arthur was mistaken for a prostitute.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Not Quite the Look I Was Going For!

**Author's Note:**

> **Disclaimer:** These characters belong to the BBC/Shine - I'm just borrowing them for a while. Also, my apologies to Jane Austen for hijacking her title idea; this story bears absolutely no similarity to any of her stories!
> 
>  **Author's Notes:** You know, I keep thinking that, since I have no stamina for writing long stories, I’ll pick prompts that I can write a drabble for. And then I get stuck in, all the while thinking: one hundred words - I can do that! Or in this case, a hundred words for each section. Then it all spirals out of control and suddenly I’m six hundred words in, less than a quarter of the way through what I want to say, and abusing the oxford comma and the ellipsis again.
> 
> Tweaked slightly since it was originally written for [](http://merlinxarthur.livejournal.com/profile)[**merlinxarthur**](http://merlinxarthur.livejournal.com/) 's fanfic challenge #4, for [this prompt](http://community.livejournal.com/kinkme_merlin/17048.html?thread=15347864#t15347864) at [](http://kinkme-merlin.livejournal.com/profile)[](http://kinkme-merlin.livejournal.com/)**kinkme_merlin**.

There were times Arthur wished he’d never gone along with Merlin’s excited suggestion of joining the Drama Society back in their first year. Having to walk back to his room from the theatre on a frigid November night, was one of them. And there were still three nights of the show to go.

He hadn’t even bothered to wash the makeup off - not like he couldn’t do that back in his room, after all - just stripped off his costume and dragged on his street clothes as quickly as possible before leaving. Not only because the dressing rooms weren’t much better than a refrigerator in this weather, but also because there was no way he could stand one more minute of having to put up with bloody Vivian giggling over the chocolates she’d been sent by an anonymous admirer, or the love and fluffy bunny brigade that was Lance and Gwen positively mooning over each other.

Now that the performance was over for the night, the mask-like sensation of oil paint foundation on his face was wearing on Arthur‘s last nerve and every time he blinked, he could feel the mascara weighing down his lashes. As always, he had to fight the urge to just rub at it until the makeup gave way under his fingers, but it was at least providing some small protection against the wind, so… He grimaced and pulled his collar higher, tucked his hands into his armpits, and hurried homeward to the promise of a hot bath.

Nearing a main road he needed to cross, he paused to assess the traffic. A car pulled up to the kerb in front of him, and the passenger window rolled down. The middle-aged man at the wheel brandished a map in his direction and twisting, leaned sideways to talk to him.

“Any chance of directions, mate?”

Then as Arthur, agreeing, bent to the window, the driver’s eyes widened, and he dropped the map. His eyes never left Arthur’s face as he blinked rapidly and then stuttered, “Oh, I mean…um…Never mind, I think I know where I‘m going!” and shut the window with undue speed.

More than a little confused, Arthur watched the car pull out in a hurry, nearly hitting a second vehicle as the driver forgot to signal. Absently, he scratched at an itch on his cheek, and then picked at the pancake makeup now under his fingernail. Wait… he looked from the makeup to the departing car. He hadn’t thought… Arthur felt the heat of an embarrassed flush wash over his face. Oh yeah, there were times he most definitely wished he’d never gone along with Merlin’s suggestion of joining Drama Soc.


	2. The Problems with Beer Goggles

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> An evening in a pub goes slightly awry for Arthur.

Arthur admitted privately that it hadn’t been such a bad idea, agreeing to Merlin’s plans for a post-uni meet-up. He’d been worried that his friends would have changed beyond recognition. And worried too, that they wouldn’t have changed at all.

But everything had worked out just fine. They’d met up for lunch and a film in the middle of the day, so that those with demanding jobs or families could get back home to take up the reins of their life without a hitch. Thinned out somewhat, those of the group who lived nearer or had a free weekend, had stayed on, and spent the later afternoon swapping tales of life, love (or lack of same) and jobs before deciding to head off to the pub for their evening meal. The only person other than Merlin to still be living locally, Arthur nevertheless had an invitation to stop over and sleep on Merlin’s floor just as the others would.

Beer and fond reminiscences had flowed freely through the evening, and now Arthur needed to make a quick trip to the loo to drain his bladder. He squeezed out from the table, making his excuses, and wove his way through the crowded bar. Indistinctly, he heard Gwaine crowing an insult behind him - something about Arthur not being able to hold his liquor - and rolled his eyes, unable to keep a grin from his face. Oh yes, it was good to catch up with everyone again. They should have done this long ago!

The cool and quiet of the Gents was welcome after the hot crush of the bar, and Arthur sighed with relief as he stepped up to the urinal.

He was just closing his fly and moving to the washbasins when there was a creak and a rush of chatter from outside as the door opened. A tall, narrow-faced man with lank, dark hair and glassy eyes wobbled through, shepherded at each elbow by a friend. He was already unzipping his fly and rummaging around in his boxers before the door closed fully. Thankfully his mates got him to the urinal in time. Embarrassed on the friends’ behalf, Arthur looked away and concentrated on washing his hands.

He turned to leave and made it nearly to the door before the drunk guy noticed him.

“Oi you! Pretty boy!”

Arthur raised his eyebrows and turned, momentarily silenced by a combination of annoyance, amusement, and sheer disbelief, as another wash of sound from the bar signalled the door‘s opening again. The drunk guy had twisted part-way round to address him, still peeing, with his friends somewhat desperately trying to turn him back around so the stream of urine didn’t veer off-target and onto the floor or their shoes.

Drunk Guy waved, and wiggled his eyebrows at Arthur. “I’ve got lots of money,” he confided in what he probably thought was a whisper, “And you’ve got a pretty arse. How much d’you want for a fuck?”

Arthur felt his mouth drop open. He closed it self-consciously, and then opened it again, to say… he had absolutely no idea what anyone could possibly find to say in this situation, so closed his mouth again. He heard a muffled snort of laughter behind him and turned to see - of course, it was! Who else would witness his humiliation? - Merlin, standing in the doorway, eyes crinkling into crescent moons of unholy glee. 

Stalking past, he levelled a glare at Merlin. 

“If you even think of mentioning this to anyone,” Arthur hissed, “Ever…”


	3. (Mostly) Harmless?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> If you can't trust little old ladies to be harmless, who can you trust?!

Arthur was waiting for a bus the next time it happened.

Honestly! Just waiting. For a bus.

Granted, in honour of Merlin’s birthday dinner he’d decided to wear the trousers that Morgana had sent him two Christmases ago; coffee-brown leather so soft and snug that no underwear could be worn underneath. But his wardrobe choices were no reason for anybody to think… He was a police officer, for fuck’s sake!

He was bored at the bus stop. Pissed off that his car had chosen today of all days to break down. And generally not in the mood to make conversation with either the harried housewife trying to rein in her toddler, or the three elderly ladies queuing either side of him.

He was consequently surprised as the bus drew up and the passengers started moving towards it, to feel a dainty but surprisingly firm hand take hold of his buttock and squeeze. He jumped and let out what he would later deny was an embarrassingly unmanly yelp, and whirled around, only to find bright beady eyes peeking up at him out of a mass of white hair and floral cotton. She smiled daringly, dimples winking briefly into existence amongst the wrinkles, and pressed a fiver into his hand,

“I know it‘s not much, dear, but it might get you something warm to eat, or a nice, warm jumper to wear for the winter.”

“Thank you, but I don‘t need…”

She patted his hand in a comforting way and peered up at him trustingly, “Don‘t make a fuss dear, I can afford it. Just, maybe take a night off and enjoy the time to yourself for once?”

He blinked, and she took it as her cue to slip past and join her friends already inside the vehicle.

Gathering the shreds of his dignity around him, Arthur straightened his back and got onto the bus. He paid for his ticket, manfully trying to ignore the leer he got from the driver, and headed straight for the back of the bus, which was mercifully free from well-meaning old ladies.

“Dear God in Heaven,” he sighed as he sat gingerly, trying to avoid his tender (and quite possibly bruised!) arse cheek, “Merlin‘s never going to let me hear the end of this!”


	4. Good Will To All Men

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It might be Christmas, but Arthur's bad luck is still running true to form.

Seriously, Arthur thought, how did he get himself into these situations?

Oh yes: it was Merlin’s fault. It was _always_ Merlin’s fault! One badly timed conversation, during work hours no less, joking about the times that Arthur had been mistaken for a prostitute, and suddenly the head of the local Vice Squad was sitting at his desk asking Arthur to consider a short stint as an undercover officer. They were short-handed, what with flu season and all. And the only experienced officer they had who wasn’t ill… was currently in the middle of a multiple-force operation due to take several months more. What else could Arthur say, other than, “OK?”

Though naturally, he’d volunteered Merlin too.

They’d both tried to back out when they saw the costumes they were being provided with, but DCI Muirden was having none of it.

So here they were, then: togged up in the most skin-tight clothes imaginable for the annual Christmas crack-down on kerb-crawlers. Merlin was stationed on the other side of the road from him, lounging indolently against a streetlight whilst chatting to a frail-looking (but black-belt possessing) Detective Sergeant by the name of Freya, who like them, had been roped into the temporary undercover scheme. They made an attractive couple, Arthur mused grumpily, leaning back against the wall and crossing his arms: both pale and slender, and innocent almost to the point of looking childlike. Quite what he had to offer by comparison was anybody’s guess!

Somewhat predictably given his luck, Arthur was the first bait to get a nibble.

A passing car slowed, and then stopped. The hopeful-looking driver leaned across to open the passenger door.

“What are you offering?”

He almost felt sorry for the poor sod as he leaned in to the open door, smiled predatorily, and brought his badge into view, “I‘m afraid I‘m going to have to caution you, sir…”


	5. Turning a Trick or Two...

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This time, it's personal!

“So,” a husky voice said in Arthur’s ear, “I hear you turn tricks.”

Arthur turned on his bar stool, and quirked an eyebrow, spreading his legs slightly to better display the goods.

“And if I do?”

A slender finger traced its way down his cheek, along his jaw; trailed further down his neck and teased at the collar of his T-shirt. He moved involuntarily into the touch, and the other man smirked.

“Well then, I‘d suggest that you meet me outside to discuss terms…” The tone of voice might be innocent, but the look of mingled lust and challenge was anything but.

Arthur leaned forward to lick briefly at his potential customer’s ear and breathed,

“Sounds good to me. I‘ll meet you out back in five minutes.” He paused, shifted his weight slightly and drew his knee up between the other man’s legs, stroking it up between his thighs to rub at the growing bulge at his groin. He watched smugly as blue eyes dilated, and leant over again to bite gently at his ear, eliciting a full-body shudder for his trouble. And then he left, grinning at the pole-axed look on his mark‘s face.

It was five minutes later almost to the second (and no, he hadn’t been checking his watch out of nervousness - it was sheer coincidence!) before Arthur found he had company behind the dance club. He propped himself as seductively as possible against the nearest wall and watched the other man approach. He quirked an eyebrow, and his customer grinned before schooling his face into a more serious mien.

“So.”

“So...”

“Condoms...”

“Condoms?”

Arthur rolled his eyes and produced a strip of condom packets from his back pocket. “Pick one,” he said with some asperity, “and start telling me what you want out of this!”

“Oh, right. Yeah. Um, can I fuck you up against the wall?”

Arthur leaned in to his face. “Are you asking me, or telling me?”

“Um. Telling you?”

“ _Mer_ -lin!”

“I‘m sorry! It‘s not like I‘ve done this before, you know!” He flushed as Arthur widened his eyes mockingly. “I mean the roleplay, you ass!”

“You were fine in the club.”

“Yes, well. There were lots of other people around. It was like Drama Soc again. This is… You keep _looking_ at me!”

Arthur stared at him. Merlin shifted nervously under his gaze, fiddling with the condom packet in his hand.

“Would it help if I _weren’t_ looking at you?” Arthur enquired with heavy sarcasm, and was surprised when Merlin brightened up.

“Actually, yeah! That‘s not a bad idea.”

Arthur’s face must have betrayed his hurt, because Merlin took a step forward and pulled him close against his body and into a kiss that was hot and hard and passionate. Arthur relaxed, humming appreciatively into the caress of mouth on mouth.

He felt Merlin’s palms stroking down his chest, and then his fingers tugging gently to free his t-shirt from the waist of his jeans. Those same fingers, long and deft, were soon engaged in unfastening his jeans and peeling them down past the swell of his arse, along with his underwear. He let it all happen, content to let someone else do all the work for once. His world had narrowed to the press of possessive lips, the gentle breath of drifting air currents on bared skin, the soft drag of knowledgeable fingertips following where the breeze had passed, tracing swirls and curlicues on his back and sides and buttocks.

And then Merlin’s lips were gone from his. He opened his eyes, and made to ask - but Merlin was turning him to the wall and telling him to lift his arms and brace himself against the brickwork and spread his legs a little - and, oh yes, they were playing, Arthur reminded himself, swimming back to reason…

The rough brick was harsh against his palms, but in contrast to that sensation, Merlin’s hands - the only point of contact between them - smoothed gently over his cotton-clad back. His hands shifted to palm, and knead, and spread Arthur’s buttocks; his thumbs traced the cleft down, and stopped, pressing lightly at Arthur’s hole. One teasing, teasing finger pushed in, just to the first knuckle, just for a couple of seconds before retreating. Arthur shivered.

Suddenly, Merlin was pressed up against his back, all lithe muscle and denim-covered erection butting solidly along the length of Arthur’s body, and his arms wrapped securely around Arthur‘s waist, hands dipping in passing to tease at Arthur‘s exposed cock. He ground into Arthur’s backside, and blew a breath across the shell of his ear.

“You’re already lubed,” he murmured. “That is so very hot.” His hips rolled up against Arthur as rhythmically and inexorably as the sea.

“Like it, do you?” Arthur ground out, before gasping. Dear God, when had his ear become so sensitive?

The sharp edge of Merlin’s teeth scraped carefully at his earlobe, and then in counterpoint to the not-quite-pain, his hot tongue licked a trail down Arthur’s neck, leaving a trail of cool air in its wake.

“Oh yes,” he said earnestly, “You‘re all ready for me. All hot and wet and ready for me to fuck you.”

Fingers plucked at Arthur’s nipples, pinched them through the cotton and went back to circling gently. Arthur jerked at the sensation, bucking backwards into Merlin’s groin. He moaned, or maybe it was Merlin’s voice he heard - he wasn’t sure he could tell any more - and he lifted an arm from the wall he was still gripping, intending to seek out the zip on Merlin’s jeans. Merlin’s hand slid down to clasp his wrist and placed it back on the brickwork.

“I want you to stay put,” he said.

“OK,” Arthur managed. He rolled his shoulders, and dropped his head, letting Merlin do what he wanted.

What Merlin wanted, it seemed, was to step back from Arthur. In the absence of his warmth, everything felt sharper and more visceral. The balmy summer air felt colder against Arthur’s back, and almost freezing against his naked arse. He was suddenly aware of his own cock and balls, heavy and throbbing with the beat of his own pulse. His hole clenched involuntarily and he bit back a whimper. Behind him, he could hear Merlin’s deep breaths, feel the edge of those breaths stirring the air currents across his skin. He could hear the abrupt schnick of Merlin’s zip, hear the barely muffled moan that had to be Merlin taking his own swollen cock in hand. Then came the plastic rustling of condom packet being ripped open and discarded. Another stifled gasp as Merlin rolled the condom on. All those familiar noises made new by their setting.

Then Merlin was back with him, pressing in slowly with his cock - no further preparation of fingers or caresses - but oh, so glacially slow to allow Arthur to adjust around him.

Besieged by sensation, Arthur found himself fighting to stay still and let Merlin set the pace. Fighting not to press back, to force Merlin into going faster, damn him! His fingers tightened on the stonework, almost to the point of pain, as Merlin breached him, hot and blunt and inexorable, until finally he was seated as deep as it was possible to be. And then Merlin began to move.

It was strong and smooth and deep and steady like a heartbeat. Merlin’s arms bracketed Arthur’s, palms set against the brick wall outside his own, squarer hands.

Slow at first, but gaining pace until their hips were slamming back against each other with almost bruising force, and all the while, Merlin breathed into Arthur’s ear words that shouldn’t sound affectionate but were; an impassioned litany of how hot and tight and perfect Arthur was. How he was Merlin’s, and only Merlin’s. Merlin’s slut and Merlin’s lover and Merlin’s filthy whore and he loved it didn’t he? Arthur gasped for breath and arched into it all, begging without words for more. And impossibly, Merlin gave him more.

All too soon the rising tide of orgasm crested and spilled over him. He gasped and quaked his way through it, dimly aware of Merlin’s whimper as he clenched his hole around the cock that filled him. And then Merlin dropped his head to Arthur’s shoulder as though he could no longer support its weight, thrust deeply one final time, and shuddered to completion inside him with a throaty groan.

From some last bastion within, Arthur dredged up the energy to turn his head and beam affectionately at the sweaty mop of his boyfriend's hair.

“Sometimes, Merlin, you have the very _best_ ideas.”


End file.
